The Marriage Bureau Neglected to Inform Them
by NNNNsic
Summary: Sometimes, just seeing it in writing makes it official enough. GSR


Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.

Summary: Sometimes just seeing it in writing makes it official enough.

A/N: This is very silly. You were warned.

Sara argued with him for almost two hours, over several martinis and a plateful of various fried appetizers. She had to argue. After all, if it didn't mean anything, then why was it necessary?

Grissom had no real explanation other than he just wanted it. It would hold meaning for him. He would never make her marry him, he told her, wouldn't dream of forcing the square peg of her unique opinions on marriage into the round hole of societal norms.

That got to her. A little. Though—through the fog of her fourth martini, she concluded she really wasn't following his logic.

"Let's apply, get the license, and… that's it."

"You realize that makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense. It tells me that, for the moment, you intend to betroth yourself to me."

That made her snort, which made him smile.

"I'm not marrying you," she reminded him, with pouty lips and a lovely raised brow.

"I'm not asking you to, dear." That made her giggle again, and he decided she'd definitely had enough martinis. "I'm asking you to come with me and fill out a form. Don't get confused by the romantic overtones."

"But you only apply for a marriage license if you intend to get married! I don't intend to get married." She paused and evaluated whether her lips were going numb. Then an intelligent thought occurred to her. "Don't they expire?"

"Yes. In one year."

"So, what, is this the start of some plot to convince me to marry you within a year?" She was squinting very seriously, which made him want to laugh at her, but he held it in.

"No. There's no conspiracy here, I promise. And I think you should stop thinking about this before your head explodes."

"How many beers did you have?" she demanded suddenly.

"Three." He was lying, because his second beer was sitting in front of him, three-fourths full.

Sara looked like she was doing math in her head, staring at the table. Did he deliberately get her drunk? She vaguely recalled ordering all of those martinis herself.

"It's just a piece of paper, Sara. Aren't you at all curious how the process works?"

"Don't play the educational adventure card with this," she complained, motioning to the waitress for their check.

"C'mon, let's do it."

"You're such a strange man…"

"This from the woman who refuses to marry me."

"I never said never."

His eyebrows went up, and she immediately regretted getting him excited. "I never said yes, either! God, why do we have to talk about this? Everything's going so well…"

The waitress dropped off the check, and Sara considered telling this woman their entire story. Surely she'd back her up. Filing for a marriage license with no intention of getting married was just… dumb. Wasn't it? She began arguing both sides in her head. Really, having the license—granting only the _consent_ to marry meant…nothing. And yet, he was implying that that would be enough for him. Was he being inexplicably cute and considerate, or was she just imagining that angle to this discussion?

"I just want to have it," he said, as if picking up on cue right where her own brain left off. "I want written documentation that one day I got Sara Sidle to apply for a marriage license with me. That's saying a lot."

Sara blew a decidedly drunk raspberry at him and slid out of their booth. "Take me home," she sighed, swaying as she stood.

"Yes, dear."

"You got me drunk."

"You did that yourself."

"Meh."

He drove directly to the marriage bureau on Clark Avenue, and clearly she _was_ drunk because it made her laugh instead of pissing her off.

"Surely there's law against giving intoxicated people a marriage license."

"I don't think you understand this city," he said as he parked the car.

They made their way across the parking lot in silence, until she reported, "I'm not marrying you."

"Not asking you to," he answered louder than necessary, holding the door for her.

"Oh my God," she muttered on the way into the building.

The woman at the counter found them rather funny. Sara rolled her eyes and pouted and felt compelled to inform the county employee that she had no intention of marrying "this guy". Grissom just grinned and nodded, saying virtually nothing.

Sara sighed heavily and shook her head when she had to fill out her parents' information, like she was some 16 year old twit. Damn. Thinking of her parents made her heart start to pound and her palms sweat, and her mouth went dry, and she really had to pee, and her stomach hurt, and just at that moment she glanced over at Grissom, and he seemed to know instantly not only that she was freaking out—but he seemed to know exactly _why_ she was freaking out because he leaned over, put his hands on her cheeks and said in a soothing voice, "Sara, you do not have to marry me. I promise."

Then he got that sweet adoring look in his eye and said, "Please, just do this for me."

Some part of her heart must have healed right then because for the first time ever, she considered actually following through the whole way. '_Til death do you part. I do._ She said nothing though, just blinked at him, then nodded and signed the application with a steady hand, never more sure that he loved her.

The whole procedure took less than ten minutes. At 11:41p.m., nineteen minutes before closing time, Gilbert Grissom and Sara Sidle were granted a license to have a ceremony that would make them legally married—regardless of whether they ever intended to take part in such a ceremony.

They spent the rest of their night off wandering downtown, holding hands, occasionally laughing at how peculiar they really were. It was a good night that ended in some rather adventurous sex in their bedroom. Even Sara's hangover many hours later seemed mild and easy to manage. He was satisfied and happy, and she was mesmerized by him. Life was good.

It was ten days later, toward the end of shift on an early March morning, when Judy happened to come into Grissom's office with a message for him just as Sara happened to be talking to him about a very small but potentially hazardous spill in trace.

"Hey, congratulations!" Judy sang out. She was smiling at them, warm and relaxed.

Grissom frowned at her over his glasses. "Huh?"

"I didn't even know you two were engaged!"

"What?" Sara squealed.

Judy searched for Sara's right hand and found it bare. Had she made a mistake? "The…announcement listings. In the paper?"

Grissom didn't quite squeal, but he certainly yelled. Surely this wasn't happening. "_What_?"

"I had to read it four times. I…I thought for sure I was seeing things," Judy went on, very nervous now.

Sara and Grissom were staring at each other with seriously terrified expressions, eyes wide, mouths open. The marriage bureau forgot to mention that they print the licenses in the newspaper!

"Anyway, there it was in black and white. Sidle-Grissom, marriage license, issued March 2, 2007…and…oh, no…this is supposed to be some sort of secret isn't it?" Judy lowered her eyes and shook her head. Damn her babbling mouth.

"Not exactly," Sara muttered, glaring at her fiancé. Not that that's really what she considered him. Fiancé. Shit, they were engaged, weren't they? People who applied for a marriage license generally considered themselves…engaged. And now the department secretary knew about it!

"Oh my God!" Judy whispered, scared of Grissom, but thrilled nonetheless to be in on the biggest piece of CSI gossip in years.

"We're not getting married," he admonished, quickly searching Sara's eyes for some kind of sign that this wasn't as disastrous as he was envisioning.

Judy squinted at them, back and forth, wondering why anyone would file for a marriage license if they weren't getting married. Was the whole thing some kind of mistake? Why weren't they explaining themselves?

They didn't know _how_ to explain it.

Sara just groaned and closed her eyes, slapping a hand to her forehead, and finally Judy mumbled some apologies and slipped out of Grissom's office, the expression on her face indicating that she was entirely too uncomfortable to ever disclose their secret—if there was even a secret to disclose. She was biting her bottom lip as she closed the door, giving them privacy.

"What are the odds that no one else we know reads that part of the paper?" he said, attempting a smile.

Sara was rubbing her face. "I can't believe this. And it's not like we can get it annulled."

"There's nothing to annul," he shrugged, suddenly finding the situation humorous.

"This is all your fault!" He took it as a good sign that she was smiling a little.

"I agree completely." He nodded and took a deep breath.

"Gil, what are we going to do?"

He studied her face, and it pained him—to see her so upset and nervous. It would certainly be a lot easier if she'd just marry him. "I don't know. I know I did this, and I can't for the life of me figure out what I should do to fix it. But you need to know that…I do… want to fix it," he promised sincerely.

"Oh, bullshit. You want to get married!" she snapped, and he laughed unexpectedly, which made her laugh. She was being ridiculous. She knew it, but… she didn't know how to fix it.

They both held their smiles and tried to think.

Wait a minute. Yes, she did. She pursed her lips and squinted at him. "You don't…have a ring, do you?"

Grissom glanced at the clock and briefly wondered what the fastest way was through downtown at this hour. He shifted his jaw, feigning a coolness that completely contradicted what he was feeling inside, and thought about the silk drawstring bag of his mother's that he kept hidden in the glove compartment of his car.

"If I did?"

Sara's stomach fluttered at his intimation, and she blushed, staring at the carpet. Was this really happening?

He closed his laptop and calmly licked his lips, eying her intently. "Are you bluffing, Sara?" It took a moment for her eyes to meet his, but when they did, he knew instantly that she was ready—finally ready, and his face revealed his enormous pleasure.

She raised a finger, pointing it in the vague direction of his face. "I don't bluff," she began, "but you better drive fast." Grissom came around his desk as she went on. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, but, expect a mourning period of utter panic." Her expression softened a bit. "After that, I swear, I'm not looking back—"

The rest of whatever she had planned to say was lost in the unexpectedness of his kiss. For a few brief seconds, her feet didn't touch the ground.

"Get your coat!" was the last thing he said on his way out the door.

THE END


End file.
